


A Compromising Position

by peevee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Frottage, M/M, PWP, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 12:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peevee/pseuds/peevee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's been listening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Compromising Position

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授權翻譯】A Compromising Position <抓包>](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1475215) by [Jawnlock123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jawnlock123/pseuds/Jawnlock123)



> Written in 24 hours for [mistyzeo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo)'s prompt 'a compromising position' at [come-at-once](http://come-at-once.livejournal.com/). This version is cleaned up a little, thanks to ghoulkitten, who is the greatest. <3

“I can hear you masturbating.”

“Jesus! Fucking—what?” John sat up abruptly, heart pounding, and reached blindly for the lamp on the bedside table. Sherlock was standing in his doorway, dressed in his coat and a halo of fluffy hair. He had bare feet. John blinked.

“I can hear you,” he repeated. “Masturbating.”

“Can you stop saying ‘masturbating’?” said John, who had been, and was trying not to squirm too obviously. He pulled the duvet up around his chest and tried to will away the tingly feeling in his fingertips that came with a long, luxurious wank being abruptly interrupted.

Sherlock flapped his hand impatiently, gaze suddenly intent on John’s shoulder. He was shuffling closer, finger out as if to _poke_ , and John batted at it and flopped back down.

“Go away, Sherlock! Most people have a sense of privacy when they catch someone in a…a… _compromising position_.” He heard his voice go a little squeaky on the last word.

“People,” said Sherlock, in the tone of voice one might use to say ‘pus-filled wounds’, or ‘a bag of rotten entrails’. “I heard you. I’ve been listening. Do you want to have sex?”

“I-,” said John intelligently, trailing off. Sherlock’s hairy knee was poking out of his coat. Hairy, and very bare. “Are you,” John began again, peering more closely at him, “are you naked under there?”

Sherlock tugged his collar more firmly around his neck, looking irritated, as if this wasn’t going the way he had hypothesised.

“Yes,” he said shortly, then “ _so?_ ”

John scraped a hand through his hair. “Right,” he said, “uh. Can you perhaps…elaborate?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I want to. You’re curious, and you find me adequately attractive. Plus you’re already aroused.”

“It’s not an experiment, is it?”

“Everything is an experiment,” said Sherlock. His hand fell away from his coat collar, which fell open, revealing a vee of naked skin. John swallowed.

“I mean, have you--before?” It wasn’t exactly relevant, but he had wondered. Alone. In bed. Extensively.

Sherlock stood, looming over him. Close up, it was completely obvious that he was naked under the coat, which should have looked ridiculous but in fact just looked ridiculously sexy. His legs were pale and muscled and the tendons in his throat and at his collarbones shifted as he moved. “No,” he said, as he began to unbutton. John’s heart began to beat wildly in his chest. The answer was yes, of course. Fuck, yes. Sort of. Probably? It was _Sherlock_. He suppressed a hysterical giggle.

“But, you can’t—I mean, shouldn’t you _think_ a bit…more? About it? Um-”

“I have been _thinking_ about it,” said Sherlock, flicking open another button, “for some time. It was…unsatisfactory.”

“Unsatis…” John began, and then trailed off as Sherlock dropped the coat to the floor. He stood, staring at John, before edging closer with the air of a large animal stalking its prey. John shrank into the duvet instinctively, then inwardly shook himself and reached forward to pull Sherlock towards him, which ended in a rather high-pitched squeal, a messy spill of limbs and Sherlock wide-eyed and naked on his bed.

Then Sherlock pounced.

“Jesus!” yelped John, as he was pressed backwards into the pillows by what seemed like twenty elbows and knees all at once. Sherlock hovered over him for a second before dipping his head down to press his mouth inexpertly against John’s, and then drew back just as suddenly, like a bird darting down to peck at a worm.

“Now, just hang on,” said John, gaining purchase on one of the elbows/knees (which turned out to actually be Sherlock’s hip) and holding him still. Sherlock wriggled. He was warm, and surprisingly soft despite all his bony bits.

“John,” he said, and it sounded less like a plea and more like a petulant demand, because of course it did. John tightened his fingers.

“If we’re going to do this,” he said, as Sherlock snorted and squirmed impatiently, trying to push John backwards as John tried to get out from underneath him,“you’re going to have to let me…ha!” He grinned triumphantly, and Sherlock looked up at him from where he had suddenly been pinned.

“Oh, come on,” scoffed Sherlock. “You’re not going to be tiresome and _educatory_ about it, are you? Rutting genitals together to orgasm requires about as much skill as tying shoelaces.”

“Mycroft told me you didn’t learn to tie your shoelaces until you were twelve.”

“Yes, well, I wasn’t having sex when I was twelve either, was I? This is pointless.”

He attempted to escape from John’s grip, and John let his entire weight fall, pressing him into the mattress. The sudden full body contact seemed to electrify Sherlock, who arched upwards with a cut off little sound, scrabbling his hands briefly against John’s back before sliding them down to clutch at his bum and pull him forwards.

“Oh,” he panted, “oh.”

John slid his hands tentatively up Sherlock’s ribs. He _was_ curious. Had been. To know what Sherlock might be like, like this.

“This is ridiculous,” said Sherlock, squirming. “You’re ridiculous.”

Apparently, he was just the same as usual. John’s fingers slid up a little higher and came into contact with two soft little nipples. He rubbed at them experimentally, and Sherlock made an odd sort of ‘ha!’ noise. John looked at him, at the surprised openness of his mouth, and leaned down.

It wasn’t the hesitant, clumsy peck of earlier, nor was it deep or messy or frantic. It was soft. Sweet. He opened his mouth a bit and sucked very lightly on Sherlock’s soft lower lip, and Sherlock copied him as best he could, obviously unsure. It was ridiculously endearing, but Sherlock wasn’t hesitant for long, and John let his mouth open a little more and licked very softly. He felt Sherlock jump at the sensation and pant into his mouth, and then there was Sherlock’s tongue touching against his, soft and hot and curious.

John hadn’t snogged like this for years. He’d forgotten how utterly decadent it could feel, just the lazy slide of tongues, slow hot arousal beginning to curl inside him, Sherlock making deep little noises of contentment every so often. When John needed to catch his breath, he trailed off to nose across Sherlock’s cheek, and when he reached a small cold earlobe, he couldn’t resist biting it.

“John!” said Sherlock, sounding slightly strangled. John bit him again, then licked around the shell of his ear, and Sherlock’s legs abruptly spread under him.

_Oh._

Sherlock was very, very hard, and hot and suddenly _right there_ pressing insistently against John’s cock and into his hip and there was silk-smooth skin and soft prickling hair and it was just a little bit wet. John let out a mortifying sort of whimper, right next to Sherlock’s ear as Sherlock slowly arched his hips and ground them together and suddenly this was very, very much like having sex. Having sex. With _Sherlock_. The thought hit him forcefully in the gut, and he became aware that Sherlock was making these _noises_ , ‘oh, oh oh’ as he breathed heavy and open-mouthed against John’s neck.

John rolled until he was leaning on his good shoulder, Sherlock warm and sweaty underneath him. He managed to grasp hold of both of them in his free hand, keeping hold as Sherlock jerked and gasped in his trembling grip and then they were thrusting against each other in a slow, heavy rhythm, kissing slick and messy as they both slid together into the circle of John’s hand. Sherlock’s cock was hot and velvety against his, and the very feel of it had delicious shocky thrills curling up John’s spine every time Sherlock arched into him.

“I want to fuck you,” Sherlock suddenly said. “It’s all I can think about; I saw—I want—” and John moaned and let go of them both to drag Sherlock’s hand up and over his arse before he could second guess himself, and then there were two hot, dry fingers rubbing at him insistently and Sherlock panting, “Yes, yes,” into his ear.

“We can’t,” he gasped, squirming into them, away from them.

“I know,” murmured Sherlock, “but I want to--to think about it.” He pressed a little harder, until the tip of his finger was inside, and John couldn’t stop gasping at the feel of it. Then Sherlock scrambled between them, pulled one of John’s legs up and _pressed_ the tip of his cock just against John’s hole.

“Oh my god,” said John.

Sherlock thrust lightly against him, not trying to push in, just…rubbing. He moaned as he did it, low and strained. Positioned his cock again and _rubbed_ and it felt utterly obscene. Thrilling. Dangerous. God, it was dangerous; they should be wearing condoms, they should have _talked_ about this. John felt his cock twitch where it was pressed between their bellies. He was so, so close. He squirmed a little.

“When I come,” breathed Sherlock, “some might go inside you, it might, it—”

And John was gasping and Sherlock was _pushing_ and it wasn’t going to happen, it definitely wasn’t, but it almost was, it _could_. He spread his legs, daring, rubbing the head of his cock in little pushes against Sherlock’s belly and Sherlock’s grip was so tight on him it hurt. Every breath out against John’s ear was a moan.

“I’m almost—almost, _John_ ,”

And John was coming, helpless to stop it, in thick shuddering waves that had him arching and jerking back against Sherlock and he felt the hot slickness between his thighs as Sherlock licked at his mouth and moaned and came all over him.

Sherlock was hot and sticky and _strong_ , his fingers clutching bruises into John’s arms even has he shivered and pushed his still twitching cock into John’s thigh. John gave up trying to escape and tugged him closer, already drifting and all too aware that they were going to wake up stuck together, sweaty and regretful.

He found he really didn’t care.


End file.
